Page 57 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

I want Sophia. Her presence. What she gives without ever trying to claim me. The grounding force she’s become—without even realizing it.

Discreetly, I press the lock button on my iPhone three times, sending the agreed-upon signal to Nicolas. As I set the phone down on the bed, doubt slips in. What if she notices something? What if the plan fails?

I can’t afford a mistake.

I open my arms and Natasha throws herself against me, kissing me full on the mouth. Her overly sweet perfume makes my stomach churn, but I force a smile. I keep my movements controlled, calculated. Nothing beyond what’s strictly necessary.

"Ruslan, I thought you’d never call me."

"I just got married. I have to be careful."

Her mouth tightens slightly. Perfect. Jealousy will make her more vulnerable.

"I know," she murmurs, though bitterness flickers in her eyes.

I move toward the champagne bucket, taking my time. Every gesture has to look natural.

"Want a drink? I ordered your favorite."

Her face lights up. She suspects nothing.

"Gladly. You’ve always paid attention to details."

I fill our flutes, noticing her hand tremble slightly as she takes hers. She’s nervous too. Good.

We clink glasses, eyes locked. She takes a sip and lets out a soft moan. Champagne is her guilty pleasure, and I’m counting on the alcohol to further dull her guard. Just as I hoped, she drains her glass, sets it aside, and starts unbuttoning my shirt.

I let her. I stay in control. Always. One hand holds my glass; with the other, I gently cup her cheek.

"You seemed distracted the other night at the gala," I say, feigning concern. "You left so suddenly. I was worried."

"Oh, it was nothing," she replies absently as she removes my shirt. "Stanislas had trouble with one of his shipments. He needed me to calm a client down."

I have no difficulty imagining the nature of those negotiations, and I suppress a grimace.

"Hmm…" I murmur, brushing a kiss against the hollow of her neck.

"But everything’s taken care of now," she goes on, her thoughts already clouded. "He’s arranging an emergency shipment to replace what was lost."

I need a name. And since she’s on the verge of giving it to me, I slowly unzip her dress, my touch deliberate, restrained.

"Do I know the client?"

"What?" she asks, dazed.

"The client," I prompt gently.

"No… I don’t think so. It’s André… André Korzton."

I’ve got him. I immediately hide my satisfaction.

Suddenly, my phone rings, slicing through the silence. Perfect timing.

I let it ring, feigning irritation.

"For fuck’s sake, can they ever leave me alone?"

I answer, anger threaded into my voice.